


Mulder and Scully Need to Quit Their Bitching

by cinnamonsnaps



Series: The Alphaverse of Feels [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Striders, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonsnaps/pseuds/cinnamonsnaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>alpha request fluff fluff fluff</p>
<p>You hate the fact he forces you into this role, but he's your older brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mulder and Scully Need to Quit Their Bitching

God, he always takes forever.

Always on set, making sure the camera angle's terrible, making sure the actors are hammy, a perfectionist in being completely fucking terrible. He said he'd be back by at least 9 and it's like, 11 now?   
You check your last text from him. 

"yo dirk im going to be late home so about 9, something came up with stillers wardrobe again and i think this is one shitstorm no amount of toilet duck can clean up tbh  
dont wait up for me go the fuck to sleep   
im being serious"

You decided a while back to hunker down for the night on the couch with microwave ramen and the entire sixth season of the X Files, because there's fuck all to do in your room apart from finish Jane's rabbit, yell at Cal, and be get exasperated because he's taking so damn long at that movie studio, what the fuck Bro.  
How hard can it be to produce a movie that was so crap, they actually paid you to see it? You eat your ramen moodily and watch as Mulder and Scully exchange meaningful glances for the fortieth time this episode.  
Fuck him, you're not going to sleep.

Okay, so you may have fallen asleep.  
You wake up to the clumsy unlocking of the front door, hand instinctively flying to your katana before you realise no robber is that heavy handed. Sounds like Bro let himself drink again. You settle back into the couch as he lets himself in, sober enough to try to be quiet, drunk enough to fail at it. What a dope.  
"Yo bro," you greet him as he walks past you. He pauses and takes a few steps back.   
"Thought I told you to go to bed."  
"You told me to go to sleep. You didn't specify where."  
"That's my bed."  
"It's a futon."  
He stares at you for a good few seconds. "It's also my bed I don't get your point, now please shift along because Dave needs a good long lie down, okay? Okay."  
You shake your head. "Go sleep in your actual bed, Dave."  
He huffs. "Snoop Dogg gets to sleep on a futon."  
"And since when has Snoop Dogg been a good role model?"  
He looks at you like you just spoke in Latin.   
"Since, like, forever. Mom," he adds on the end, ridiculously dramatic.  
You knead your eyes because yes, you do feel exactly like a mom right now. Having Hollywood superstar older brothers turns you into a middle aged woman, who knew.  
"Bro. It's like one am. You said you'd be home at nine."  
"I know I know okay but then Stiller had this really good idea, by which I mean completely fucking awful, involving fur suits and these gross fake beards-"  
"Bro." You stand up, putting a hand in his face."You're an asshole."  
"I know, I know, I'm an asshole I know this that was an answer to the question I always ask myself, like am I an asshole and the answer is yes-"  
He still doesn't get it. As he rambles on, you creep around him and push his back gently towards his proper (mostly unused) room, rolling your eyes.   
"- because I just worry so much like, am I neglecting this kid by being this huge star hunk of flesh winning all the awards and I guess the answer is a huge tick from the judgemental parents' corner, 10/10 on the neglect scale -"  
You push him onto his bed, effectively muffling his words in the duvet and the sheets. He's a huge, douchey, childish ignoramus and you just want him not to forget about you every fifteen minutes to be honest.  
He makes a distant noise into the mattress and you flip him over, though not easily. The man is about half the size of you again.   
"I'm sorry," he whispers. Sheesh, he had more to drink than you realised.  
"It's okay, go to sleep," and you push him down as he sits up again.  
His shades are askew on his face, so you straighten them out. "You're an embarrassment."  
He just licks his lips and gives you a sheepish look. "'m sorry."  
You don't dignify it with an answer this time, because that's not how Striders roll. They don't just apologise and lie there and look at you like a kicked puppy.   
You shake your head and get off the bed completely, throwing the cover over him in more of a symbolic display of "go the fuck to sleep" rather than of any useful action.  
"Stay here."  
You pad into the main room, switching off the television as Mulder says ferverently that he won't bend to the federation, as well as flicking the lights off. You feel so much like a guardian and you almost despise it, apart from...  
Apart from the fact Bro was always stoic, and always unreadable, and every intention was always hidden under fifty layers of convoluted irony so you thought you could see through him like crystal, when all you were seeing was just another mask like the shades - and now he was relying on you.  
You walk back into his bedroom, apartment safely in lockdown. He sits up yet again and gives you an unreadable look, and you both stare at each other for a couple of beats.  
There's nothing really to say to him, so you cross over to his side of the bed and look down at him. You're not going to ask for what you want. Not your style.  
Looks like he isn't going to ask either.  
This is going nowhere, extremely slowly.  
You both move at the same time, him shuffling backwards to allow you room, and you lowering yourself down beside him. Your arms wrap around him and he pulls you into an awkward, so typically Strider hug.  
He's already falling asleep, so you're secure in the knowledge that he won't hold it against you if you hold yourself against him. Your head tucks beneath his chin.  
You're fourteen. It's one am. You just want your older brother to hold you and tell you he doesn't care more about his studios than he does about you. "You're always late. Do you not want to come home, or."  
His hand rubs up and down your back, and he shakes his head. "Shh. 'm sorry. Lots of business... shit like that..."  
His other hand pets your hair as he drifts off, and you can't bring yourself to be disgusted at him for this blatant display of affection. He's weak as a child when he lets his guard down, but so are you, and you fall asleep a lot more easily when your big brother is as warm as an electric blanket and right next to you.

This is so uncool.  
You don't really care.


End file.
